


Amen

by absolutelyCancerous (cal1brations)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Headcanon, M/M, Religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-29
Updated: 2013-11-29
Packaged: 2018-01-02 23:45:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1063099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cal1brations/pseuds/absolutelyCancerous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t want to go to Hell, Jefe! I-I’m bad, but I don’t want to go to Hell!”</p><p> Attic cleaning turns into a bit more memory-finding than anything; unfortunately, religion wasn't always a save haven for Romano.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amen

Romano coughs, stumbling to the window and nearly breaking the lock before he manages to get it open with a cloud of dust, coughing twice as hard.

“Everything alright, Romano?”

He continues coughing, glaring at Antonio who’s up to his elbows in old trinkets and junk. They’re cleaning out the attic, and although Romano would rather rub habanera peppers directly in his eyes than help, he was persuaded with the promise of skipping out on a meeting, courtesy of his brother, and the promise of a place to crash, with Antonio.

“Why the fuck is this place so dusty? Don’t you ever clean?”

Antonio laughs again, wiping his forehead on his sleeve. “I don’t usually come up here unless I need to put something aside for later. But, I guess later is now!”

Romano sighs, sneezing a few times before he goes back to Antonio’s side, using the box cutter they brought up to open another box that, surprisingly, has his name on it. Inside, Romano almost groans at the sight of dresses and aprons and tiny boots that fill the box. There are also a few pictures that are so old, they hardly have any definition of what they are anymore.

“ _Oh_!” Antonio swoons, hanging over Romano’s shoulder as he picks up one of the tiny dresses. “ _Eras un Niño tan lindo!_ ”

“Shut up!”

Antonio burrows his nose to Romano’s ear, grinning as he hugs him close. “So  _cute_ , Roma!”

“Agh! Stop!” Romano squirms. “ _Non piú_!”

Antonio laughs again, patting the other’s back as he peers back into the box, digging out the photos and a few prayer beads. Romano moves to search through a few more boxes, but frowns when he catches sight of a larger box—no, a trunk. He steps over to it, fingering the latch curiously. He looks back at Antonio, who’s swooning over Romano’s old nightgowns, and Romano decides to hell with it, and flicks the latch.

He coughs a little when he tries to lift the lid the first time, because dust flies everywhere. Distantly, he hears Antonio call out, “Wait, Romano!” but it’s too late, because he’s already opening the trunk, digging his hands inside.

It smells like fear.

Romano pulls out a large coat, and definitely gasps when he sees the lavish design of the front and the shoulders; this is Antonio’s coat. He looks inside again and sees the shirts, the hat, and swallows thickly.

“Romano.”

He turns, and Antonio is standing right there, already taking the coat from Romano’s hands. He folds it, none-too-neatly, and slams it back into the trunk, throwing the lid down and latching it. He sighs, before brushing off his shirt and turning to smile brightly, like nothing was ever wrong.

“How about a break?” Antonio suggests. “It’s about lunch time, anyway.”

They head downstairs, Romano after Antonio, and while Antonio blabs his mouth in the kitchen, Romano sits at the table, swirling a glass of red wine and watching it intently.

.-._.-._.-.

“Romano, have you prayed tonight?”

The small boy moans, tossing his head back. “I don’t remember all the words! Boss says too many—why can’t—“

Instantly, Romano knows he has made a mistake. Although he is usually very vocal about what he does and does not want, his voice gets stuck in his throat when Boss storms over to him. Dark, sunken in eyes glare at him, and Romano almost thinks that if he wasn’t property of Antonio’s, he would be murdered.

“Get in bed,” Antonio says, slow and soft, except poisonous in the feeling it gives Romano, making him tear up. “Get in bed, right now, and say your prayers, Romano.  _Ahora mismo_.”

And there’s no arguing—not because Romano doesn’t know what to say, but Antonio has  **never**  spoken to him like this—and the boy runs to change into his nightgown, hands shaking as he kneels at the edge of his bed, clasping his fingers together tight enough to make them white.

He starts, and Antonio steps closer to him as he whispers the words, so he says them louder, to make sure Boss knows he’s really trying to say them correctly.

Antonio rubs his back gently, sweetly. “You’re such a good boy, Romano.”

When he finishes his prayer, Antonio helps him into bed, and Romano doesn’t have the gall in the moment to tell him to piss off. The feather from Antonio’s hat tickles his face, and he sneezes, but Antonio smiles, says an easy, “God bless you,” before turning out the light and leaving Romano to tremble in the night, wondering if maybe, he really is a sinner.

.-._.-._.-.

“Romano?”

He jumps, looking at Antonio, who’s offering to pour them each a new glass of wine. Quickly he offers his glass, making wine slosh out over the edge and splash all over the table.

“Shit!”

“ _No hay problema_ ,” Antonio answers, getting up to get a kitchen towel. “I got it, Romano, sit down!”

“I can do it myself!” Romano hisses, yanking the towel from Antonio’s hand and slapping it on the table to mop up the wine. Antonio slowly takes a seat at the table once more, carefully pouring Romano another glass of wine.

“Are you upset?” He asks, and Romano sighs loudly; at least he’s learning to ask a little before blindly ignoring the atmosphere.

“I’m  _fine_ ,” Romano grunts. “I don’t need you cleaning up my shit all the time.”

Antonio laughs at this. “That wasn’t the case a few centuries ago!” He pushes the half-full glass back towards Romano with a smile, and the Italian takes it with a large sip, sucking his teeth at the taste.

.-._.-._.-.

“The blood of Christ.”

Romano stares at the Father, who is offering him a large silver chalice. Romano takes it, which makes the man smile, and sniffs it, coughing at the strong scent of cheap wine. He looks to Antonio, who’s standing beside him (to make sure he’s okay), and he smiles, nodding at Romano peacefully.

Nervously, he takes a sip, and covers his nose and mouth to make sure it all goes down to his belly, burning and all. Next, he steps to the next priest, who is offering him a cracker of sorts.

“The body of Christ.”

Romano takes this curiously, bites half of it, and the priest laughs, telling Antonio in loud Spanish about what a precious boy he is. Antonio looks embarrassed, and takes Romano by the hand back to the pew where they’re sitting, along with the Queen, whom is praying with her head to the wood in front of them.

“Romano.”

He looks at Antonio, who leans close to his ear.

“Don’t  _ever_  do that again. Do you understand me?  _Comprende_?”

Romano tries to keep his voice quiet. “ _Che_? I ate what they gave me, asshole!”

Antonio slaps a hand over Romano’s mouth and leans in very close, which gives Romano the hint of that scary feeling is about to come. Antonio’s eyes look dark and serious, and Romano does not argue anymore, only cries quietly and whispers, “ _Lo siento, Jefe. Lo siento, perdoname_!” over and over until Antonio hugs him close, and tells him that yes, it was only an accident.

.-._.-._.-.

After they eat, and the wine is cleaned from the table, Antonio declares that it’s probably sacrilege to go onto work without a siesta in the afternoon. Romano calls him a lazy ass, but they both end up flopping onto Antonio’s bed, messy sheets and all.  

Romano lies awake for a good while after Antonio dozes off, thinking so much his head begins to hurt. At that point, he rolls over; face tucked against the other’s arm, and falls asleep himself.

.-._.-._.-.

After the church incident, Romano locks himself in his room, sitting up against the door and wailing loudly when Antonio slams his fist against the door, yelling out.

“ _Romano_!” He screams, after slamming multiple times. “Open this door! Open this door right now!”

Romano cries more, wiping his nose on his shirt. “Go away! Fuck you!”

“Romano, if you don’t—“

“You’re going to yell more! I get it—I fucked up! Just  _go away_!  _Basta_!”

Antonio stops slamming at the door. Romano thinks he finally has some peace, and cries quietly into his knees. After awhile, he moves to cry on his bed, and fall asleep where his tears have soaked the pillow. He tells himself he’ll wash away the evidence of his naughtiness before Boss can yell at him for it, but he clasps his hands together and prays, just in case.

As he sleeps after his tantrum, Antonio gets the door open. He shuts it softly behind him and carefully makes his way to the bed, gently sitting down on the mattress. Romano stirs, looks at him, then jumps up and begins to cry again, begging that he doesn’t yell—please!

“Romano,” Antonio whispers, opening his arms. The boy crawls into them, shaking his head, the tic in his arms and legs back with a force; he might get sick from the guilt.

“Romano,” he starts again, and the boy looks at him. “Is this about the yelling?”

The child pulls a face, which quickly turns into a loud wail.

“I don’t want to go to Hell, Jefe! I-I’m bad, but I don’t want to go to Hell!”

Antonio sighs, rubbing the boy’s tiny back and resting his chest on the top of Romano’s head. “No one’s making you go there—you’re a very good boy, Romano. Difficult, but a good boy. You’re not going to Hell.”

Romano sniffles, crying quiet tears. “That’s what they say in church. You  _always_  make us go—why do we have to go?” His voice is a whisper. “We’re not bad guys.”

The elder sighs, rubbing the boy’s shoulder. “To keep us safe, Romano. If we stop going there, we’re going to get into a lot of trouble.” He holds Romano’s arms firmly, but it doesn’t hurt him. “We have to go because I need to keep you safe, and that’s how I can do it.”

Romano sniffles, snot running down his chin. “So you don’t really give a shit about this stuff?”

Antonio sighs. “ _I_  pray every night, and I think  _you_  should, too, Romano.”

The boy huffs. “Those prayers are too fucking long.”

“Then you say what you want God to hear. I think it means more if you do it that way.”

Romano pulls a face, and Antonio smiles, getting down on his knees at the bedside. He pats next to him, and Romano climbs down to kneel next to him, hands folded on the edge of the bed.

“Dear god,” they both say, and Romano watches Antonio bow his head a little.

“I pray for Romano.” He looks at the boy with a smile. “Because he can’t mop a floor to save his life.”

Romano huffs. “Well I pray for Jefe, because he’s too nice for his own good. Also, he eats a lot of crap food and is lazy as a pig, so I hope he doesn’t have a heart attack.”

Antonio laughs at that. “I pray that Romano never stops wearing the outfits Jefe picks for him.”

“I pray that Jefe will stop letting the Queen yell at him so much—that’s  _my_  job.”

“Romano!”

“And I also pray that Jefe’s grapes grow good this year, so we can make more wine and sell it and have lots of money—“

 Before Antonio can add on, Romano spits out, “In the Lord’s name we pray, Amen!”

They both end up laughing, although Antonio smiles far too long after. Romano doesn’t say anything, only watches him, and hopes that this is the end to the past years of terror.

.-._.-._.-.

“Romano?”

He groans as he awakes, rolling over onto his back to see Antonio hanging over him. The other’s hand is on his face, and Romano feels the wetness of his cheeks from his warm hands.

“You’ve been crying.”

Romano snorts, sitting up and wiping his eyes on his own wrists. “No, I just yawned.  _Idiota_.”

Antonio is quiet for a moment, before he smiles a little. “How about we just start on dinner? It’s too late to go back up in the attic—the sun’s already setting.”

Romano yelps. “You let us sleep that late? How the  _fuck_  are we going to sleep later tonight?”

“Well—“

Antonio wiggles his eyebrows, and Romano grunts in annoyance, face red from the comment, and slams a pillow right into the other’s face. He laughs, while Romano seethes.

“Paella.”

Antonio lifts his head from the pillow, his hair a mess of frizzy curls. “Eh?”

“I want Paella for dinner.”

The elder grins, “I  _do_  make the best around…”

Romano rolls his eyes, swinging himself up from the bed and fixing his pants. “So let’s make it. A  _huge_  dish of it.”

“We’ll use all the rice in the pantry,” Antonio agrees.

They make a  _massive_  mess out of it, but Romano does admit, it’s the best damn Paella he’s had in a very long time. The shrimp makes him think of Antonio’s long hair and battered coat, but he doesn’t cringe at the thought, and instead, crams more of the food into his mouth, and nearly eats himself sick.

.-._.-._.-.

When they return to bed, after doing dishes for almost an hour, Romano has his head propped on Antonio’s side, bobbing up and down with every breath the other takes. He stares up at the ceiling, and it’s awhile before either of them speaks.

“You’re being quiet,” Antonio comments.

“I’m full.”

“Not usually quiet.”

“I’m  _thinking_.”

Antonio sits up, making Romano’s head slide into his lap with the motion. “About what?” He asks, hanging over Romano.

He doesn’t lie. “The trunk. A long time ago.”

This is bad news, apparently, because Antonio groans, covering his face and rubbing at his eyes. He mumbles, but Romano doesn’t catch the Spanish, which makes him a little frustrated.

“Not the whole day, right?”

Romano grumbles, and Antonio swears, which almost makes Romano feel a little guilty about it.

“I forgot it was up there—truly, I did, Romano.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he snorts, and Antonio sighs—apparently now is not the time for sarcasm, which Romano strongly disagrees with.

Antonio gets a little in his face at the reply. “You think I want to remember any of that? Do you think those were fun times for me, Romano?”

“I wasn’t—“

“Do you think it felt good for me, to listen to you cry  _every_  Saturday night because of church in the morning?”

Romano glares at Antonio, expecting something else, but Antonio looks more hurt than anything, bowing his head down solemnly.

“Those were some of the worst times for me, Romano.” He bows forward, so their foreheads touch together. “ _Perdoname, mi pequeño.”_

“ _Te perdono_ ,” Romano mumbles, pulling him in for a kiss. Antonio repeats and repeats his apologies, and with every one, he gives Romano another kiss, sorrowful and chaste. After several times, Romano holds his cheeks, forcing Antonio to look at him.

“I forgive you,” he says clearly, definitely  _not_  crying. “You protected me.”

Antonio nods, smiling. “I tried to.”

“You  _did_ , idiot.”

They kiss again, tangled in one another, and spend most of the night forging a new bond over this forgiveness.

After, when they’re both panting and hot and tired, Antonio clasps his hands together loosely over his bare chest, smiling wide as he speaks up to the ceiling.

“Dear God,” he says, and Romano listens carefully, his own hands crossed in prayer. “Please don’t make the sun rise in the morning to come. Amen.”

Romano squawks at that. “What? Why! Why would you pray for that, asshole? Don’t say “Amen” yet!”

Antonio grins. “I want to make love to you  _until the sun rises_!”

Romano groans, slamming his face into the mattress and pulls the sheets over his head, yelling unintelligibly when Antonio tries to coax him out from under the covers with kisses.


End file.
